


i just wanna make you sweat

by teamfreeawesome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Bullying, Depression, Fluff and Angst, IT'S REALLY ANGSTY, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Liam-centric, M/M, Swearing, hyperhidrosis, sixth-form au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam, overwhelmed by the awfulness of school, finds comfort in the arms of leather-jacket-wearing "my-scruff-is-the-scruffiest-and-also-the-fittest" Zayn Malik.</p><p>Eventually.</p><p>It's takes some time. </p><p>(Or: In which boys are silly, Liam is shy and Louis is ridiculous. As always).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in a word document for ages - and I thought maybe it was best to post what I have in an effort to inspire me to write more... 
> 
> Liam has hyperhidrosis, which you can find out more about [here](http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Hyperhidrosis/Pages/Introduction.aspx). I have been wanting to write something around this topic for a very long time, because I haven't seen it written about particularly. It's been really hard to write (and it's slowly getting there) because it feels incredibly _personal._
> 
> I have hyperhidrosis, and whilst I don't have the additional problems at the moment with bullying etc, a lot of this feels really _close_. So, just ... treat me gently, my loves. And to those of you who have hyperhidrosis, I hope I have treated the topic respectfully and appropriately - and I recognise that there are varying degrees of hyperhidrosis and it's effects! This fic happens to be drawn from some of my own experiences coping with it. Which. It fucking sucks, man. (I praise all makers of _attractive_ sweat-wicking garments for those unbelievably hot days :P)
> 
> I've tried to be fairly light-hearted in these notes and in the title, but like. It's not fun and it makes a lot of social interaction really hard sometimes. And it's weird, because in situations where it's actually normal to sweat, I still get ridiculously worked up about it because I am so fucking conscious about it all the time. So, it may seem kinda _gross_ or whatever, but like. It's an actual, genuine affliction and it's horrible. So be respectful please.
> 
> ALSO. LIKE. HANDSHAKING. Worst thing ever omfg. Interviews make me want to cry.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is not true. It's a work of fiction and no harm was meant by the writing of this. To me: fanfiction One Direction are fictional characters. I don’t, in any way, equate the stories to their real-life counter parts, because they aren’t the same people. Also, please, nobody send this to anyone included in this fic or anyone that they know.
> 
> Also. Here in England, college is for ages 16-18. So, um, it's like a sixth-form, only it's not attached to a secondary school like a sixth-form is. Colleges also tend to have quite a few 'feeder' schools, and therefore a lot more students than secondary school. 
> 
> Comments and kudos improve my days by about 200% <3

When Liam was eleven, he relearnt the meaning of _unhappy_.

His ears a little too big for his body, shirt tucked in tight and trousers ironed, Liam smiled happily at the world (eyes crinkled and a bounce in his step) as it _crushed_ him beneath its _hatred_. And every morning, the walk to school long and littered with obstacles, that smile grew dimmer.

The walk home was worse. It came accompanied by bruises scattered across his body, the shape of fists burnt into his skin, and boot marks dusted across the (now crumpled) material of his trousers. And that bright, happy smile – it just

                                                                                _melted away._

Liam was left a crumbling, aching _shell_ of himself, eyes tight with pain and heart heavy with grief. His bones cracked with the weight of supressed tears, skin pinched and uncomfortable as he curled inwards on himself. And Liam –

Liam learnt that what he’d thought unhappy meant –

It was _nothing_.

Nothing compared to this.

 

*

 

Liam eats lunch on his own.

He sits in his bedroom, each exhale disconcertingly loud in the muffled silence of _alone_. He picks at the corner of his duvet, lunch box open in front of him, and doesn’t cry; chews his sandwiches and tries to pretend that he doesn’t feel lonely. At least college allows students to go home for lunch. Liam’s not sure that he could suffer through another two years of hiding behind the back of school, hands trembling as he unwraps his lunch, his heart clinging to the desperate hope that the industrial sized bins will (just once, please _, please)_ provide him with protection.

His mum thinks he eats at college. Thinks that Liam’s got _friends_ that he hangs out with. But then – he’s worked hard to make _sure_ she thinks that. He packs his lunch with a smile every morning, chirpy and bright as he tells her about what his _friends_ have got planned that day. Because – his family have enough to worry about without Liam adding his own _uselessness_ to the pile.

And if he sneaks home at lunch time and eats there – well, it’s not like he’s going to tell on himself. And it’s _nice_. Liam tells himself it’s _nice_ , because otherwise the prickle of loneliness that scratches at the back of his lungs (nails sharp and nicking his flesh just enough to _sting_ ) - that loneliness – it’ll _overwhelm_ him. And Liam’s not sure he would be able to carry on. He’s not sure he could stand to let the clock keep ticking. And that’s –

That’s not okay.

There are days, though, when he doesn’t have a free period after lunch. It means he only has an hour to eat between classes – which isn’t enough time for Liam to make it home and back without _consequences_. Because – Liam’s weird, see. His body – it.

His body _betrays_ him.

An hour isn’t enough time for Liam to cool back down again. He tried it, once. He’s not going to try it again.

On those days, once a fortnight when he has a workshop scheduled, Liam wakes up and – doesn’t cry. Because – Liam is _fine_. He’s _fine_.

He gets to college and his heart races, the thump of it erratic against his ribs as he breathes. He knows he’s got to choose somewhere to eat – and he’s got to eat alone. He sits in his maths class, shoulders hunched against the laughter (spitballs in Liam’s hair because ‘ _hey it’s li li. where’d the curls go liiiiiiiam. did you sweat them off. did you did you did you’_ ) and his armpits prickle, a light sheen of cold sweat shiny across his palms. He tugs at the sleeve of his shirt (damp fingerprints on the cuff), pulls it away from his armpit with desperate fingers, and tries not to cry.

The bell rings and Liam’s packs his bag slowly and waits for the crush of excited students to exit before he carefully leaves his seat (checks behind him, always checks). He’s not sure where he’s headed, though, because the sudden drop in temperature over the past week means he’s not able to sit outside anymore. Since the start of term it’s been warm enough for Liam to find a bench somewhere and eat there – and not look too strange. But just the thought of the biting October winds have Liam wincing. He needs to choose somewhere else.

He _would_ go and sit in the library for an hour (eat his lunch later, when he gets home) – but they _always_ have the heating on. Liam tried it once. He’d felt like his skin was _melting_ off his body – his fingers swollen and clumsy as he’d wiped the rivulets of sweat off on his jeans. He’d fidgeted and panicked, face heating as sweat rolled down his back (and that’d been awful because _what if it was soaking into the back of his shirt_ ). His neck burned and his clothes stuck to his skin, cotton wilted by perspiration, and Liam –

Liam left, quickly (hoped desperately that the back of his jeans weren’t soaked with sweat – rucksack pulled _just so_ in case his shirt was stained with his body’s _betrayal_ ) and he hasn’t been back since. He’s _pathetic_. He can’t even go to the _library_ because he –

Liam sweats from _every pore_. He sweats when he’s stressed and when he’s hot and when he’s embarrassed and when he’s _excited_. When he’s talking about something he likes.

And it’s not just – it’s not like, _normal_ sweat. His hands – they sweat _all the time_. Even when he’s cold. He’s in class, and his skin sticks to the paper beneath his hands, leaving behind a damp patch that makes the ink run. He’s standing in the hallway and a droplet of sweat runs down a finger and splashes to the floor. He’s on the bus, standing because he’d offered his seat to a pregnant woman, and his grip is slipping, salty water running down the yellow pole like a beacon.

But – the rest of his body. That sweats too. His back and his armpits and his _bum_. It’s more under control though – happens only when he gets too hot or too stressed. But his _hands_. They don’t stop.

So Liam –

Liam doesn’t _touch_ people.

He knows better than that now.

 

*

 

Liam’s sixteenth birthday is like a fracture across his heart. He’d like to forget.

His mum had insisted he throw a party. _It’s a big one, Liam_ she’d said, forehead furrowed with worry. _You won’t ever get to be sixteen again_.

Liam reckons he’s counting on that.

But, the thing is –

He did.

He did invite people. He asked the only three boys (the ones he’d carried with him from primary school) that he thought he could count on. He knew that they didn’t really _talk_ to him at school. But he’d thought that they might turn up for this. No one else at school would have to know about it – and Liam could pretend for an evening that he had people who liked him enough to celebrate his birthday with him.

So he –

He let himself _hope_. He got caught up in his mum’s excitement, eagerly shopping for party food with her, swinging himself backwards and forwards on the handle of the shopping trolley. They’d decorated, his favourite CD playing in the background, and Liam –

Liam remembers warmth and laughter as they spread his birthday across the house.

He even helped cook, laughing loudly as his dad accidentally mixed the beans with the jelly as he danced to the music. Liam was _high_ with the feeling of anticipation and optimism, his skin buzzing with it. He remembers thinking, heart pounding with excitement, _today is going to be_ good _. It’s going to be awesome_.

By nine in the evening, he finally had to admit to himself that no one was going to turn up. The food lay forlorn on the table as Liam fought to swallow around the lump in his throat. He wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have bothered _hoping_.

The next day at school was awful. The boys he’d invited had told his whole class about Liam’s party – and the resulting laughter had followed him for _months_.

He spent evenings desperately crying into his mum’s cardigan as she hugged him close and apologised. Sometimes he dreamt of college, this distant, _hopeful_ thing, and wished miserably for school to be over.

He spent the last year of school burning beneath the weight of daily humiliation and -

Liam would like to forget.

 

*

 

Liam’s dithering, hovering between the library and the courtyard outside (each option is _bad bad bad_ ), and as the rush of people push past him, he ends up being swept with the crowd towards the cafeteria. He’s dragged, crushed amongst the press of people, through the double doors and into the lunch hall. The crowd around him dissipates as soon as they’re through the door – and as they leave, the sheer, overwhelming _noise_ of fifteen-hundred people chatting hits Liam like a battering ram.

He sighs and decides to buy a cup of tea before heading outside, the hot drink hopefully staving off the cold. He heads to the back of the queue, thankfully fairly short, and tugs several times at the bottom of his shirt to cool his back. The heating is gurgling loudly and the crush of people exuding body heat only increases the oppressive warmth in the room. Liam curses to himself, paying for his cup of tea quickly in an effort to get back outside as soon as possible. The damp sheen of sweat spread across his body is unpleasant, and the frosty air outside is looking more and more inviting.

He clicks the plastic lid on the tea and pushes out through the clusters of people standing and chatting, heading towards the doors that exit out into the courtyard. As he passes the canteen tables, he spots Niall up ahead, surrounded by a large crowd of people. He lowers his eyes in case Niall sees him – he’d rather avoid an awkward and stressful conversation if he can, especially since the tea is slipping against his sweaty palm.

Niall is one of those people who is apparently friends with _everyone_ – and for some reason he seems to include Liam in this. Liam is always surprised when Niall smiles at him in the corridor, especially considering how they’d met.

(Liam had decided to try out for the football team, spurred on by his dad who’d said that joining sports teams _guaranteed_ friends. Several boys from his old school had also been trying out – and Liam should have _known_ it would end badly. He’d been tripped, pushed, mocked (and at one point even punched in the balls) and he’d left thoroughly humiliated, his bottom lip wobbling. College was supposed to be _different_.

Niall had been trying out at the same time, and afterwards had slapped Liam on the back, beads of sweat building in the line of his blonde hair.

“Good game, dude,” he’d said, before throwing his towel over his shoulder and wandering off to the showers.

Liam had been left behind, mouth hanging open. It had _not_ been a good game.)

Liam wipes his free hand on his jeans and heads past Niall’s table, head ducked. He’s almost at the doors, when he hears Niall call out.

“Liam! Hey, Liam!”

Liam halts, turning slowly on his heel, wiping his hand on his jeans yet again. He can feel the prickle of sweat building under his armpits and he just –

He doesn’t _need_ this right now.

But he walks towards Niall’s table, slippery fingers tight around his cup, the heat of his drink drawing beads of sweat from his fingertips. He smiles nervously as he approaches, and Niall’s answering grin is blinding. Liam can feel the sweat pooling under his arms and across his back, and he breathes deeply to calm the panic building under his skin.

“Hey Niall,” he says, smile wobbly.

“Hey.” Niall says, grinning. “Haven’t seen you for _ages_ mate. You got lunch? Wanna eat with us?”

Liam rubs desperately across his jeans with his free hand, the back of his neck heating. The thing is – he really, _really_ wants to. He’s never been _invited_ to hang out with people before. But – it’s far too hot in the canteen (his skin feels _swollen_ with perspiration) and there isn’t room for him anyway. He can feel the hot, curious stares of Niall’s friends, and they burn into his back. He shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of his shirt (a smudge of sweat-darkened cloth curled around his hand).  Humming unsurely, Liam starts to thank Niall for the invite, planning on backing away quickly, but Niall jumps in quickly before Liam’s mouth can shape the words.

“C’mon Li. Hey, Lou, budge that fat arse down a bit so Liam can sit.”

The boy sitting second to the end of the row sticks his tongue out at Niall, but nevertheless slides down slightly.

“Sorry,” Liam begins, “you don’t have to. I’m fine standing.”

Louis looks up at him, expression bemused.

“Don’t worry about it mate,” he says, before turning to the boy next to him to continue their conversation.

Liam’s gaze flicks over to Niall, who nods towards the space, and Liam sighs. Laying his jacket carefully down on the seat in an effort to protect it from his nervous perspiration (it’s too hot and he doesn’t want to be here – except he does, he really _does_ ) he swings his legs over the bench and settles his tea down on the table.

Niall flashes a grin at Liam, before introducing the people around him. Liam is sat in between Louis and Zayn, whose leather jacket breaks Liam out in a sympathetic sweat. Further down the table, sat next to Niall, Jade and Perrie from his Biology class are drawing a rather unflattering picture of Harry on the table. Harry, sat opposite and sandwiched between Leigh-Ann and Louis, is apparently of the opinion that their drawing is hilarious. As Liam watches, Louis reaches out and quickly scribbles a large penis, upside down, on top of table-Harry’s head.

“Heeeey,” Harry says, voice gravelly.

“You love it,” Louis says, winking, before poking Harry in the side with his pen. “Feed me, Hazza.” He says imperiously, pointing at a grape.

Rolling his eyes, Harry breaks a grape off the stalk and pops it into Louis’ mouth, before turning away to look at his table-likeness again. Louis grins, ruffling Harry’s hair and hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder to watch the drawing’s progress.

“He needs dimples, Pezza,” Niall shouts, braces flashing in the harsh lighting.

Perrie flips Niall off, but gives table-Harry dimples anyway. Liam finds himself smiling at the spectacle as he eats his sandwiches, his fingers making the bread slightly soggy at the edges as he holds them. He’s ridiculously damp, his shirt sticking to his back, but being surrounded by people who seem to think he’s _okay_ is almost enough to make up for it. He jolts, almost punching himself in the nose, when Zayn leans into his space, voice rusty with disuse.

“You okay, mate? You look a bit pale.”

Liam flushes, a wave of _hot_ rushing under his skin as beads of perspiration pop up all over his body.

“I- I’m fine,” he stutters out, the tips of his ears burning.

Zayn is _fit_ – and Liam feels flushed all over, sweating desperately with embarrassment and _want_. Zayn nods once, rubbing awkwardly at the stubble lining his jaw, before turning away to flick a piece of pasta at Niall (who, impressively, manages to catch it in his mouth). Liam ducks his head and puts his apple back in his lunchbox. He feels a bit sick, the churn of discomfiture burning at the pit of his stomach.

Putting his lunchbox back in his bag, he looks quickly at his watch. They’ve got ten minutes before the next class. Catching Niall’s eye he smiles awkwardly.

“I’m gonna head off, mate.” Liam says. “Got woodwork in ten.”

He stands, pulling his rucksack onto his back, before brushing himself down. He picks up his jacket, tying it round his waist (just in case, just in _case_ ) and Niall beams up at him.

“Good to see ya, Liam. You should hang out with us more often, mate.”

Liam smiles uncertainly, before heading towards the exit, utterly bemused. He didn’t exactly _contribute_ anything to their morning – and his skin feels tacky with dried sweat. The material of his top feels damp against his skin, and he just – doesn’t need conspicuous sweat patches as _well_ as a complete lack of anything resembling a _personality_. It’s not exactly surprising he doesn’t have any friends. He just – has no idea why Niall would want Liam to eat with him _again_.

Pushing open the doors that lead to the courtyard, Liam shivers as a wave of cold air rushes over his sweat-damp clothes. Tugging his jacket on, Liam heads towards his workshop – and tries not to hope that the lunch _meant_ anything.

 

*

 

Liam thinks about that lunch a lot.

He spends nights clutching desperately at the remembered feeling of being _wanted_. It was _awkward_ , but it’s become one of Liam’s most precious memories. After awful, heart-breaking days - Liam left shattered and hurt – he clings to thoughts of _friendship_. He imagines impossible scenarios where he eats with them _daily_ – and they _like_ him. It hurts, sometimes, to imagine – but it’s the good kind of hurt. Like a bruise that’s a few shades too old to be _sharply_ painful. Instead it’s a deliciously dull ache of _want_ that he coaxes into wonderfully hurtful daydreams.

It’s nice.

 

*

 

The thing is, Liam had assumed that that was _it_. That Niall was just being _polite_.

He still eats his lunch at home most days, choosing to shiver in the courtyard on weeks he has his workshop. Niall still smiles at him in the corridor when they pass – and Liam finds himself smiling back. The oddest thing, though, is passing Niall’s friends on campus – and having them _wave_ to Liam. The first time it happened, Liam was so shocked he’d dropped the box of tools he’d been carrying. Leigh-Ann’s apologetic shout across the grass as she headed in the opposite direction had only surprised Liam further, mouth gaping open in shock.

He’d gathered up the tool box, its indestructible metal casing still intact (if there was a dent in the side, it wasn’t like it _mattered_ ), and had headed towards his class, Leigh-Ann’s greeting a warm glow that had carried him through the rest of the day.

Following that first encounter, Liam finds himself regularly being waved at across campus, each new point of human contact lighting the fierce flame of _hope_ in his heart. Sometimes, when they’re close enough, they even stop and _talk_ to Liam. Harry’s timetable often means that he’s crossing the courtyard at the same time as Liam.

It’s –

Liam’s never had so many people that he’s sort-of-known before - and it’s _amazing_. He feels a rush of warmth every time he thinks about them taking the time to acknowledge him. He’s glad that Niall asked him to sit at his table, even for a moment.

Liam’s –

So very, very _grateful_. 


	2. Chapter 2

Liam is making his way to class when Harry catches his elbow, smile brightening as he slows.

“Hey Liam,” he grins.

“H-h-hey Harry,” he says, smiling nervously back at him.

Flicking his hair out of his face, Harry rubs his hands together against the cold. Liam is thankful that the temperature is cool enough that his hands are dry for once. It’s a nice feeling.

“So, we’re having a house party tonight at Niall’s. We were wondering if you wanted to come along. It’d be nice to see you.”

Liam’s mouth twists slightly, his heart thumping erratically against his ribs. He wants to. He really, really wants to. He can’t _believe_ he’s being invited to a house party –

His heart snags. He’s being invited to a _house party -_ and it’s probably for a _reason_. It just –

He doesn’t need another embarrassing moment added to the repertoire of things that people laugh at him about. And – it’s not like he’d be much fun anyway. His kidney problems mean that he wouldn’t be drinking.

“Oh. Um,” Liam says, blinking rapidly. “I don’t really drink.”

Harry’s face falls slightly.

“That’s okay. You could come anyway? You’re absolutely welcome,” he says, voice coaxing.

“I-I I’m not sure I’d be much fun,” Liam admits, swallowing around the tremble in his lip.

“Of course you would,” Harry says, leaning across to pat Liam’s arm (he flinches). “But if you don’t want to go, that’s okay. We’ll do something else another time.” He smiles encouragingly at Liam.

“Sounds good, Harry.” Liam says, the corners of his mouth lifting in response.

“Awesome,” he chirps. “I’m gonna be late for class, so see ya later Liam.”

He ambles off, hair bouncy and un-missable in the crowd of students. Liam swallows around regret, almost wishing he’d accepted the invite. But – he needs to accept that friendship and parties – they’re not _for_ Liam. That he’d be _shunned_ if they knew. He gets to have a _taste_ of it – that’s all. He’s allowed a _taste_ of what he can’t have.

And he’s got to be okay with that.

 

*

 

Sometimes –

It’s like the world gets too _big_ and too _painful_. An ache builds under Liam’s skin, the throb of it stretched like a gouge across his ribs.

Sometimes, when the _sharp_ of the world feels like it’s closing in, Liam crawls into the dark, silent space beneath his bed and curls around his bruised heart. He lies there, battered and sore, and lets the universe fade away for an evening. Protected from the _sting_ of awful days, Liam cries his wounds out into the soft space. 

Sometimes, it’s like the loneliness is clawing _desperately_ at his skin, sinking deep into his bones and laying scratches across delicate tendons – and Liam _crumples_ beneath it. His fingers twist into the carpet, clinging frantically to the strands of material as sobs wrack his body. Jaw clenched, muted tears tracking down his face, Liam holds tight.

And sometimes, it’s like a punch to the belly. His hurt creeps up behind him, slapping across his skin like a whip – and he breaks. He shatters into fragments of _bone_ , scattered out like ashes. He fractures beneath the weight of _existence_ (of breathing the same air as his pain) and it aches. It _burns_.

Liam tells himself he’s okay.

 

*

 

It’s fourteen weeks into term and Liam is cursing himself. He woke up late and in the rush to leave the house he completely forgot to pack a lunch.  

Sighing, he makes his way to the canteen. The sheen of sweat across his hands isn’t _too_ bad, so he heads towards the cash-only sandwich queue as it looks shorter. He shifts from foot to foot anxiously and sighs again. Reaching for a sandwich, he nearly pitches face forward into the cooler with shock when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Flinching away, he turns around, preparing himself for the worst (remembers bruises and scars and hissed venom that burrows under skin). Instead, it’s Louis queuing behind him.

“Hey!” Louis says brightly. “When you’ve bought that, you should come and eat with us again. Zayn’s been asking after you. Well, in a Zayn-ish way anyway. It’s all done through the eyebrows. And the pout. The pout is definitely important. Huh. Anyway, eat with us?”  

Liam gapes at him.

“Liam? Are you okay?” Louis asks curiously, peering closer.

“I -” Liam shuts his mouth with a snap, swallowing tightly. “I’m fine. I just – you want to eat with me?”

“Of course! Niall’s been telling us all about you – we need to have the _proper_ Liam experience. Niall kind of – takes people under his wing? So you’ve been adopted I’m afraid. Just accept your fate now, young Liam! Don’t try to fight it!” Louis throws his hands into the air, before turning back towards his table.

“Hey Hazza!” He calls across the canteen, garnering several curious stares. “You were okay after you were subsumed into our group, right?”

Across the canteen, Harry raises an eyebrow and nods, mouth pulling up at the corners.

“See,” Louis grins, snapping back to Liam. “You’ll be fine. It’s a _nice_ subsuming. C’mon, c’mon. Hurry up and buy that. I’m in the middle of planning a prank on young Pezza and I need your help.”

He bounces off back to his table, a piece of spaghetti stuck to his shoe. Liam turns back to face the direction the queue is moving and tries to feel less like he’s been punched in the face by an excitable tiger. Breathing in deeply, he hands his money over to the cashier (hoping desperately they can’t tell how damp his hand is). Holding his sandwich to his chest he shuffles nervously in the direction of Louis’ table. Hovering anxiously at the edge of the tabled area, Liam wipes a hand desperately on the seat of his jeans (screams of _yuck_ and _gross_ burnt into the skin of Liam’s eyelids). The plastic wrapping of his food is decorated with small droplets of water that have flicked off Liam’s palm. He _hates_ this.

“Liiiiiiiaaaaam,” Louis calls, beckoning with a hand. “Why are you just standing there? C’mon over and let us subject you to our initiation ritual!”

Liam walks over to the table hesitantly, feeling the gaze of curious students burning into his back. Louis is _loud_. Placing his sandwich carefully on the table, Liam shucks his jacket and lays it down on the seat before sitting. Opposite him, Zayn quirks a smile in his direction, before turning his attention back to his lunch.

“Liam, hey!” Niall says, grinning. “How’re you doing, mate?”

“I’m okay,” Liam says, nervously fiddling with the packaging of his sandwich. “You?”

“I’m brill, mate. Hey Lou, how’d you get Liam to sit with us? I’ve been trying to ask him for weeks, I swear.”

Louis grins, swinging an arm around Liam’s shoulders. Liam shifts uncomfortably, the cotton of his shirt sticking slightly to his skin. He shrugs slightly, in an effort to remove Louis’ arm before he feels the damp perspiration leaking through Liam’s shirt. Louis gives him an odd look, expression bemused, before turning back to Niall with a wink.

“My winning personality, of course. No one can resist the Tommo!” He shouts, before releasing Liam to flick a slice of tomato at Harry.

“Heeeey,” Harry whinges, but his dopey grin belies his annoyance.

Flashing a quick grin at Harry, Louis turns back to Liam.

“So,” he begins, rubbing his hands together. “Your initiation.”

Liam blanches, fingers caught in the midst of unwrapping his sandwich. Swallowing around a sudden knot of worry, Liam tugs his hands back from the table, wiping them at his jeans yet again.

“I-i-initiation?” He stutters, tongue flicking out to lick his lips nervously.

Louis nods, sitting straighter in his chair.

“Yes, young Liam. Your initiation.” He grins wickedly. “First you must – ow, fuck, Zayn. What did you _kick_ me for?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn mutters. “Stop being an arse. Don’t worry Liam. Lou’s a bit of a dick sometimes.”

He flashes a grin at Liam, soft and disarming, before rubbing at his cheek sheepishly.

“Hey! Take that back, Malik.” Louis shrieks, throwing shreds of cheese towards Zayn, who ducks as the cheese sails towards his hair.

Flipping Louis off, Zayn rolls his shoulders and pulls a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“Whatever. I’m off for a smoke. Be _nice_.”

“I _am_ nice. I’m the nicest!” Louis says indignantly.

Snorting, Zayn stands and yanks his lighter from his back pocket.

“Be back in about five.” He nods once at Liam, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink, before he turns on his heel and heads towards the courtyard exit.

Liam takes a deep breath and eyes Louis out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t worry, Lima Bean. I promise there will be no initiations. Zayn likes to ruin everyone’s fun.” He sighs dramatically.

“No he doesn’t. Louis, he’s usually right by your side creating mischief. You two are a menace.” Perrie says, her voice carrying down the table. “Anyway, we’ve got choir now, so we’re gonna fuck off. See you boys later. It was nice to see you again Liam.”

She smiles in Liam’s direction, before heading to the music room, Jade by her side.

“Pfft,” Louis splutters. “Whatever. The thing we need to think about is what we’re doing tonight, lads.”

Harry brightens and opens his mouth, expression delighted.

“No.” Niall says, before Harry can voice his thoughts. “We are _not_ playing monopoly again. It always ends in _sulking_. And then I don’t get fed because people are too busy not talking to each other to ask for food.”

Harry slumps back down in his chair, pout firmly in place.

“But -” he begins, eyes turned imploringly towards Louis.

“I’m afraid not, Haz. I want to go _out_ tonight, anyway.” He smiles softly at Harry. “We haven’t got any alcohol and no one has a car, so you know what that means?”

Louis looks positively gleeful, and Liam feels glad he’s _not_ included in these plans. He thinks that maybe they’ve forgotten he’s at the table. But that’s –

That’s okay. At least now he can eat his sandwich without _initiation_ threats.

“Lou, for god’s sake -” Harry starts, voice laced with exasperation.

“Nope. No, I am not listening to your negativity. Tonight is _Christmas Light Night_. Liam. Hey, Lima Bean. _You’ll_ join us on Christmas Light Night, right?”

Liam swallows around his sandwich, surprised.

“Um. I’m – I don’t know what that is,” he says cautiously, unsure if it’s a sincere invitation.

Louis looks delighted, obviously thrilled to have a new audience.

“Well,” he says, placing his hands firmly on the table. “Christmas Night Light is the first night that we have the chance to head into town and look at the Christmas lights. Like, the ones that the council puts up. And it’s _brilliant_. It’s always fucking _freezing_ , but the lights are cool and the docks are all lit up and we always have hot chocolate in Costa after. If you say no, I’m judging you forever.”

Liam glances at Harry and Niall, who’re both wearing put-upon expressions. Flickering back to Louis, he clears his throat.

“Um - ” he begins, nervously.

“Oh, don’t listen to Louis,” comes Zayn’s voice from across the table.

He’s standing next to Harry’s seat, hand resting on his shoulder, hair obviously wind-ruffled from his smoke break. Liam startles slightly and Zayn’s lips quirk upwards.

“You’re welcome to come if you would _like_ to,” Harry continues, smile dimpling his cheeks.

Liam swallows uncertainly. He _wants_ to. He’s just –

He’s not sure if this is an elaborate _joke_. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“How about it, Liam?” Niall asks, voice uncharacteristically soft.

And Liam –

Liam finds himself saying _yes_ and it’s –

He hopes he’s not going to regret it.

 

*

 

Liam dreams of soft kisses. He dreams of _love_ written out across his skin with fingertips, sweet affection pressed into his body with the trace of a tongue.

He wakes and -

Liam doesn’t hope and he doesn’t _want_ (he lies to himself daily)

He doesn’t want. (Liam lies).

 

*

 

He drops his bag in the hallway as soon he gets through his front door.

“Hey Li,” his dad calls from the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” he shouts back as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

His dad is sat at the table, his mum chopping vegetables at the counter behind him. He smiles at Liam, putting his mug down.

“Want a cuppa?” his dad asks, already getting up to flick the kettle on.

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Liam’s mum beckons to him. Kissing him on the forehead, she looks down at him.

“You alright, love?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, mum.” Liam says, giving her a quick hug, careful not to let his hands touch her. Walking home always leaves him _soaking_ in sweat. “A cup of tea would be great, thanks dad.”

Sagging down into a kitchen chair, Liam breathes in deeply and –

Sighs.

“Mum,” he begins, words directed to her back as she slides the chopped vegetables into a frying pan.

“Yes, love?” She says distractedly, oil already spitting in the pan.

“Um – I.”

His dad slides a cup of tea in front of him, before settling in opposite Liam at the table.

“Thanks dad. Um. Canigoouttonight?” Liam garbles out in one breath, head ducked as he stares at his hands nervously twined in his lap.

“Hmm, what?” She asks, turning the heat down on the hob, before turning to face Liam again, expression bemused.

Liam swallows and chokes around the knot of nerves in his throat.

“Can I - ” he clears his throat. “A bunch of the lads,” he continues, mouth shaking around the old lie. “They’ve invited me out to look at the Christmas lights tonight. Can I – Can I go?”

He feels the prickle of sweat building under his arms, his fingers swollen against the material of his shirt. He – it’s not like they’re going to say _no_. At least he doesn’t think so. It’s just – by talking about it – that makes it _real_. And – what if it’s _not_? He’ll have gotten his parents hopes up (see, Liam’s not a fuck-up, he’s _not_ ) only to disappoint them _again_. He looks up carefully, peeking out from under his straightened fringe and –

They look so _happy_. His mum is _smiling_ , eyes crinkled and mouth stretched wide.

“Liam, honey. Of _course_ you can. I’m – I’m glad people are - you’re so _wonderful_ and I’m glad people are starting to _realise_ that.”

Liam flushes, the tips of his ears burning.

“ _Mum_ ,” he says, the back of his neck hot.

“ _Liam_ ,” she mimics back. “Sweetheart. I only ever want you to be happy – and it’s just. They’ve taken their _bloody_ time to realise that my son is _great_. Your sisters will be happy too. They’ve been threatening to come down and punch the lot of those _idiots_ at college.”

Liam ducks his head, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He loves his family. And – even if this goes badly, he knows he’ll still have them.

“So – I can go?” He asks, voice wobbly.

“Liam, go get ‘em,” his dad says, winking. “Show them how cool us Payne lads are.”

“ _Dad_ , oh my _god_ ,” Liam says, vaguely mortified. “I just. It’s nice to be invited.” His voice cracks around the last word, and his lip trembles. “I don’t want to screw this up. Because. What if I don’t get invited again?”

“Geoff, watch the food.” Liam’s mum says, before coming over to gather Liam up in her arms. “Liam. You are _superb_. You are funny and kind and _interesting_ – and anyone who doesn’t realise that doesn’t _deserve_ to spend more time with you. But, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine. Just be _yourself_ and don’t worry. Because _yourself_ is _awesome_ and they won’t be able to help but love you.”

“ _Mum_ ,” he says, voice breaking as the tears spill out over his cheeks. He chokes, tears splashing down into his lap.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She says, hugging him tight. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I have got. I promise I'm still writing, but there may be a bit of a wait. Why is writing so _hard????_


	3. Chapter 3

Liam stands, shoulders hunched as he breathes.

The wind whips around him, pinking the skin of his cheeks and scraping layers of exposed flesh away with its icy fingertips. Liam sucks in another shuddery breath, his exhale misting out in front of him, and shivers as drizzle trickles down the back of his jacket.

He’s _okay_.

He’s early (his mum dropped him off, a soft brush of reassurance wrapped up in the hug she bestows on him before he exits the car) and that’s _okay_.

The street around him is empty save for the echo of drunken catcalls as students’ trip their way further into town. Liam’s heartbeat sounds loud in the silence, the rush of it buzzing against his eardrums. He swallows, the gulp of it noticeable against the soft quiet of the city streets at night.

He’s _okay_.

The stars shine above him as he gazes into the sky, muted by the orange haze of street lamps, and Liam sighs.

He’s _okay_.

He –

They’re not going to stand him up. They’re _not_.

                                                                                                (Please say they won’t. _Please_ )

 

Liam breathes.

He’s okay.

 

*

 

Sometimes Liam looks at the sky and feels hopeful.

It’s the tiniest flicker, lit like a match - brilliant and golden, as it burns lightning-fast down to the quick.

 

Tonight, he feels like a shatter of glass – skin translucent and bones fragile as he waits for his heart to break.

 

(He’s not okay)

 

*

 

Liam jumps, startled by the feel of cold skin against the flush of his cheeks.

“Yo, Liam, hey.” Louis says, coming up behind him. “You been waiting long, mate?” He asks, laughing as Liam gently pushes his hand away.

“N-no,” Liam lies, the tips of his ears heating. “A few minutes, maybe.”

Being early isn’t –

Liam wants them to _like_ him.

“More than five?” Niall asks.

Liam’s skin prickles, mouth dry as he gazes at the group of boys gathered around him.

“M-maybe,” he admits, swallowing hard around the admission.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Niall says, expression softening around his reassurance. “We’re sorry. We’ll make sure we’re on time, next time. I’m always crap at getting places when I should.”

He smiles at Liam, warmth glancing across Liam’s skin like sunshine, before launching himself at Harry. The cry of outrage makes Liam snort, and he tucks his chin into the collar of his coat to hide it.

“Get off me, you great lump!” Harry exclaims, shoving at Niall as he clambers onto Harry’s back.

“Whatever, you like it,” Niall says, grinning. “Though I bet you’d prefer I was Louis right now.”

Harry puffs, but the smile that spreads across his face like molasses gives him away.

“Maybe,” he says, ducking his head bashfully, curls falling delicately around his eyes.

“Ha!” Louis crows, expression smug. “I knew it.”

Next to Liam (the smell of cigarette smoke curling around Liam’s senses like a warm kiss), his leather jacket pulled tight across his shoulders, Zayn chuckles.

“Like it wasn’t obvious,” he drawls, smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.

“What _ever_ ,” Louis says, sticking his tongue out at Zayn. “Let’s get a fucking move on, you lazy bastards. Perrie told us to meet her and the girls at nine.”

He tugs on the sleeve of Liam’s jacket – and Liam flinches. He’s cold at the moment, sweat mercifully non-existent, but it’s automatic at this point to avoid contact with other people. If they _knew_ –

Liam’s heart stutters in his chest at the thought, skin tight against his bones. He feels pinched by the stress of it – by the idea that someone might _feel_ the drip and slide of Liam’s sweat against their body, unintentionally spreading the damp of it onto their skin until they recoil in disgust.

But all that happens is Louis’ face scrunches for a second as he lets go, expression flashing distinctly icy, before settling back into a bright grin.

“C’mon, c’mon. What’re we doing standing here in the cold? Let’s go.” Louis says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Lead the way, then, Lou.” Harry says, smiling softly. “We’ll follow after.”

Louis’ face dissolves into mock-outrage.

“I don’t _think_ so, young Hazza. You’re my map-reading sidekick. Get up here. We’ll lead _together_.” He says.

“I don’t have a map, though, Lou. It’s only town.” Harry mumbles, but comes to stand next to Louis nevertheless.

“Pfft, like that matters. We make a good team, whatever happens. You know it.”

“That’s true,” Harry says softly, leaning his head gently on Louis arm. “Okay. Let’s lead the way.”

Ruffling Harry’s hair quickly, Louis smiles, before turning on his heel, Harry in tow, and heading in the direction of the town centre.

 

*

 

Liam gets cold very, very quickly.

It’s partly due to the sweat, cooling him rapidly as it evaporates.

And it’s partly just… _Liam_.

(His doctor told him, expression harried, _you have hyperhidrosis. You can have surgery if you like, Liam. But other than that – well, we’ve expended all our other options. You tried the deodorants and other solutions I suggested and they didn’t work. I’m afraid it’s just something you’re going to have to live with._

Liam hasn’t been back since).

 

*

 

The end of Liam’s nose is very cold - and his fingertips feel like they’re _burning,_ sharp teeth gnawing the skin from the bones. He tucks one hand under his armpit, rubbing desperately against his arm with his free hand in an effort to warm up. Next to him, Zayn is shivering pitifully, his unlit cigarette vibrating between his lips as they shake. Huffing out a puff of air that hangs like a soft cloud in front of him for a moment, Zayn plucks the cigarette from his lips and tucks it behind his ear.

“It’s fucking _freezing_ , Lou. Can we meet the girls in a café?” He says, teeth clacking. “C’mon, Liam’s lips are going blue.”

Liam jolts and blushes. He _is_ cold.

“Well, if _Liam’s_ uncomfortable, we can’t have that – can we _Zayn_?” Louis says, smirk pulling at his lips.

Liam peers at him, bemused. He’s not sure –

He’s not sure that Louis is being that _nice_. And – he doesn’t want to make Louis _angry_. It’s just. Liam doesn’t want to be a _burden_. He’s ruining everything - his discomfort spoiling the relaxed atmosphere from before. His shoulders hunch in and he sinks deeper into the collar of his coat, head ducked and fringe falling in his face. His bottom lip trembles and he breathes around the hitch of supressed tears collecting at the base of his throat.

“Hey,” Zayn says, and Liam jolts at the feel of finger gently tapping his arm.

He raises his head, eyes damp despite his best efforts, and is met by Zayn’s soft smile.

“Liam. None of us are gonna chew you out because you’re uncomfortable, dude. We want you here, yeah.” He says.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “I know I kid around, but, seriously. We like spending time with you, Liam. And it’s nice to have someone new around.”

And Liam –

Liam feels _warm_ , heart fluttering fast against his ribcage as he sniffs and smiles. And this might not _last_ , but right now, surrounded by people who _want_ him to be there –

Liam feels like the world is spinning beneath his feet, but he’s finally worked out how to keep up with it. It’s _brilliant_ – and he has no idea what he’s done to _deserve_ it.

“Thanks,” he whispers, the tips of his ears flushing hot beneath his hat.

Zayn smiles at him, eyes crinkling, before reaching out and brushing a thumb across Liam’s jaw. His hand lingers for a second, and Liam’s skin heats, beads of sweat building under the wool of his gloves.

“You’re welcome,” Zayn says softly, before turning away and fishing his lighter out of his jacket pocket.

“Anyway,” Louis says, jolting Liam as he claps his gloved hands together. “Zayn, mate. Thought Niall told you. The girls texted about half an hour ago saying they weren’t coming. Said it was too cold – which, they might have a point.”

Harry scrunches up his nose, flushed cheek pressed against Louis’ side.

“But _Lou,_ ” he whines. “It’s _tradition_.”

“I know, Haz. But – guess it’s just us lads now. I reckon we should head to the docks, have a look at some of the ship decorations and then go to Costa? Cos, like, Zayn’s right. It’s fucking cold and I forgot to bring my gloves.”

Harry pouts, reaching down for Louis’ hand and rubbing it between his own.

“I’ll keep you warm, Lou. Can’t we go and see the Christmas tree in the town centre too?” He pleads.

Louis sighs, eyes flicking over to Liam quickly, an uncharacteristically nervous expression etched into his skin.

“I think maybe we might have to do that on our own, babe. The other lads look pretty cold.”

Zayn, cigarette lit and the smoke curled around his head blurring him into a haze of colour against the backdrop of _grey_ , lets out a noise of derision.

“Whatever. The tree isn’t that much of a detour, Lou.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, sagging with a relieved sigh as he draws the smoke in. “But Liam probably has a curfew, even if it’s a self-imposed one. He looks like the type.” His gaze roves over Liam, lips quirking as he reaches the navy anorak Liam’s wrapped in. “So let’s make it quick, yeah.”

And Liam –

Liam _does_ have a curfew, but Zayn’s derision strips layers off Liam’s recently gained confidence, leaving him a husk of quivering _ache_. Because – Liam had been stupid to believe for even one second that someone like Zayn could feel anything more than amusement for someone like Liam.

 

*

 

Liam dreams about flying.

Hair flying around his face and skin flushed, Liam soars high over the city, the golden haze of street lamps shining beneath him.

His palm is warm, heavy with a weight that’s not his own –

And the delighted laughter that bubbles out of Liam’s chest feels like a lick of strawberry, bright and sweet on his tongue.

(Zayn laughs with him, mouth stretched around a dimpled grin, as his leather jacket flaps in the wind).

 

*

 

His parents are already in bed by the time Liam gets home.

He wishes he was still young enough to wake them – small enough let them gather him up in a hug, soothing words whispered into the dark as he cries.

 

*

 

Liam lies in bed that night, warm beneath his blankets, and cradles the evening to himself.

It _hurts_.

The Christmas tree had been _beautiful_ , the twinkling lights reflecting off the ice rink below, casting a warm glow across the crowd. And as Liam had gazed up at the tree, the bright of it a glaze across his eyes, the world _grew_. It stretched beneath his feet and he felt _full_.

But now everything feels tinged with a desperate regret, Zayn’s teasing a _scald_ across the evening. Because – it’s not like Liam didn’t _know_. He knew Zayn didn’t _want_ him. But it hurts to have it confirmed.

It’s not _Zayn’s_ fault, though.

It’s Liam’s.

Liam should know better than to _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit nervous about this chapter (and it's kind of shorter than I expected because I happened to reach a natural stopping point). And I realise that maybe Zayn seems like a bit of an arse right now with all his mixed messages, but like. He's a silly teenage boy who has a reputation he wants to keep, even if everyone else around him knows he's actually a giant marshmallow. 
> 
> I think what it comes down to is - Niall has a lot of awareness when it comes to other people and their feelings etc (how could he not? If you're friends with that many people you've got to be able to read them) and I feel like he's realised a bit more about Liam's situation that even Liam thinks he has. But Zayn is seventeen, tied up in his own self-image and doesn't _realise_ that he's hurting Liam's feelings. 
> 
> Now, that's not to say his behaviour is excusable. I just don't want people to hate me for writing a slightly-mean Zayn. 
> 
> Special thanks to Safaa for being ridiculously awesome and helping me overcome the FLUFF. Because. Seriously. This chapter looked like a giant sugar lump at one point and it was doing my head in. So, thank you Safaa for lending realism and pace to this chapter!
> 
> And super-duper thanks to a wonderful tumblr buddy (who I shall not name, because they are not a part of the One Direction fandom at all) for reading through a bit of this and reassuring me that it wasn't a gross misrepresentation of teenage boys.
> 
> The next chapter will be a bit more interesting, I think. This one felt like a bit of a filler. I just got _stuck_ on it, and I really wanted to write the _next_ bit but this chapter was in the way!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. This chapter is kind of... dialogue heavy? Also, additional warnings for: 
> 
> 1) Low self-confidence  
> 2) Depression

Liam wakes on Saturday morning to the feel of swollen, sweat-soaked skin. The air feels stale and over-warm, sunlight streaming through his flimsy curtains and flickering in unsteady patterns across Liam’s bed. His duvet is rucked up around his waist, the ends leaving Liam’s toes exposed to the gentle brush of dust particles, lit up by the sun as they drift across the room. Liam wriggles a toe, a desperate sob catching in the back of his throat as a bead of perspiration rolls down into the arch of his foot. Kicking at the tangle of covers, Liam turns over, pressing his face into his pillow. His breath catches in his throat and he clutches tightly at the pillowcase, fingertips digging in to the material desperately as he tries not to cry. He feels the dribble of a tear leak slowly from the corner of his eye as a desperate ache builds in the back of his throat – and Liam hopes that the pillow beneath him will at least soak it up, along with the perspiration building across the palm of his hands. The material feels harsh against the swollen pads of his fingers and it sets his teeth on edge.

He hates this.

He hates the fact that he can’t even allow himself a late morning at the weekends. Liam hates the fact that he has to fight daily to even feel a fraction of the confidence he sees in other people. He hates the way his body betrays him with every breath.

(He hates himself).

 

*

 

Liam steps out of the shower, skin flushed and beads of sweat re-emerging across the soles of his feet. Flinging his towel across the back of his wardrobe door, Liam sighs and pulls on a clean pair of underwear. He yanks open his dresser and grabs a pair of socks, before sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling them on. Having the material tight against his skin soothes the uncomfortable feeling of his feet against the carpet - and he flops back on the bed. It won’t take long for lines of sweat darkened material to appear between his toes, but for the moment he feels _safe_.

Exhaling harshly, Liam pushes himself up again and gathers a pair of tracksuit bottoms from his floor. He pulls them on - almost braining himself on the edge of his desk as he stumbles, one foot caught in the hem of the trousers – before rifling through his wardrobe for a clean shirt. Fully dressed, Liam steels himself – drags a smile into place and vows to pretend that he’d had a good evening the night before. It’s the least he owes his parents.

 

*

 

The house is quiet as Liam makes his way down the stairs, the creak of the heating echoing his footsteps. Breathing deeply, he enters the kitchen with a false confidence, a painful grin stretched across his face. His mum looks up as he walks in, newspaper open on the table in front of her, and smiles at him.

“Morning,” she says, turning a page.

“Morning Mum,” Liam offers, voice tight. “You alright?”

“Yes,” she says, closing the newspaper and folding it in half. “I’m having a nice, relaxed morning – unlike your dad.” She sounds vaguely gleeful. “He’s fixing your Grandma’s fence. Apparently next door’s cat sat on it and it just toppled over.”

Liam forces a laugh, throat dry.

“Oops. Is she okay, though?” He asks.

“She’s fine,” his mum says, rolling her eyes. “She phoned me up to complain about the fence crushing her daffodil bulbs, so I said I’d send Geoff over. He wasn’t impressed, poor love. How are you? Did you have a good time last night?”

“Uh,” he clears his throat, gaze dropping to the floor. He traces the edge of a tile with his socked foot, heart beating fast against his ribs. He doesn’t _want_ to lie, but he _has_ to.

“It was -” he starts, voice cracking. “It -” He clears his throat again, but his lips are trembling, a lump forming as he swallows. “I -” He manages to get out, before he collapses inwards, throat constricting and eyes scrunching tightly against the tears that threaten to escape.

“ _Mum_ ,” he sobs, voice breaking, tears spilling out over his cheeks.

He clutches desperately at the hem of his shirt as his mum lets out an alarmed noise.

“ _Liam_. What _happened_?”

Liam shakes his head as she pulls him into a hug, choking desperately on the sobs forcing their way out of his mouth. He’d _promised_ himself that he wouldn’t burden his family with this.

“Liam, oh my _god_. You’re worrying me, sweetheart.”

“It’s not -” he breaks off, stepping out of her embrace. Wrapping his arms around himself, he breathes deeply. “It’s _stupid_. It’s not a big deal. I’m just making a fuss about nothing.”

“Liam, anything that makes you cry like that is not _stupid_. Just – I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You can’t _fix it_ , Mum!” Liam shouts, voice echoing around the kitchen. “You can’t fix it,” he continues, breathing heavily. “I _lied_ to you, before.”

He turns to the table and sits heavily in the chair closest to him.

“No one can fix it,” he breathes, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward.

“Liam, I – What do you _mean_ you lied? Whatever it is, we _can_ fix it, Liam. Me and Geoff – we’re your parents. Our _job_ is to fix things for you, honey.”

She rounds the table, sitting down opposite Liam.

“Sweetheart, just tell me what happened, and we can sort it. I can talk to the school -”

“No!” Liam cries, voice cracking. “No, Mum. It’s nothing like – It’s not like before. It’s different. It’s my fault.” He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hands. “I – I lied, before. About having friends. I don’t _have_ any friends.”

He breathes hard, closing his eyes.

“This – Last night was the first time anyone has even offered to do anything with me since I was ten. They weren’t the _friends_ I told you about.” From under his lashes, tears well up, rolling slowly down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Liam. _Liam_ , look at me.” His mum says, a tremble in her voice.

Opening his eyes, Liam raises his head. She looks _devastated_.

“Liam – why didn’t you _tell_ us?” She’s crying too, eyes red rimmed and voice shaking. “We _love_ you. You don’t need to be _sorry_. I just – How long have you been this unhappy?”

Liam shakes his head, fists clenched against his thighs. “I’m not unhappy, Mum -”

“You _are_. Liam, stop it, sweetheart. You’re _allowed_ to be unhappy. Life has dealt you some truly crappy cards, love. I just wished you’d _told_ me. You deserve friends, Liam. You _deserve_ to be happy.” She takes a deep breath, steadies herself. “Have – have people been _hitting_ you again?”

“No,” Liam says, tears slowing. “No. They just – don’t talk to me. Some of them make fun of me, but – it’s just. A bit lonely.”

“Oh, _Liam_.” His mum sighs, mouth pulling down at the corners. “We can – we can take you out of college. Put you in a new one. Sweetheart, you don’t need to put up with people being horrible.”

“I don’t – I’ve only got a year left, Mum. And then I’ll head off to university. It’s okay.”

“It’s not _okay_ , Liam! People treating you like that is not _okay_. Nothing about this is okay.” She heaves a sigh. “Right. I’m putting the kettle on, and then you’re going to tell me what happened last night.”

She gets up, grabbing two mugs before flicking the kettle on. Whilst the water boils, she fetches two tea bags and the milk from the fridge. Liam sits, silently watching as she pours the tea and carries it back to the table.

“Right. So – these boys you went out with last night – how do you know them?”

Liam swallows, pulling his cup of tea closer to him. He can feel the prickle of sweat welling up under his arms, and he pulls at his sleeves.

“They – one of them, Niall, asked me to eat lunch with them at college. Recently. I thought – I thought maybe they liked me? They invited me out – and I wanted – I wanted to _go_. Because – people don’t usually want to spend time with me.”

His mum nods, blowing on her tea to cool it.

“And – it was _good_. It was really, really good. And I’m such an idiot because – I just. I’m making a big deal out of nothing. But I feel like I _ruined_ everything. I was _boring_. I don’t know why they even wanted to do anything with me in the first place – but they’re definitely not going to want to now. I – one of them, his name is Zayn -” Liam feels his cheeks flush and he ducks his head. “Zayn said – he was like, ‘oh Liam’s got a curfew I bet. He looks like the kind of guy who would.’ And I – I’m so _stupid_. Because why would they want to spend time with me? I’m a dull boy that no one wants to be friends with. But I – _Mum_ , I want them to spend time with me.”

He’s crying again, soft tears dripping into his lap as he trembles in his seat.

“Oh, _love_.” His mum says, placing her tea back on the table. “Have they said they don’t want to see you again?”

Liam twists his fingers together, looking down at his lap.

“No,” he replies, voice small.

“Well – I’m not sure I like what this Zayn said to you. But I’m pretty sure they don’t think you’re stupid or boring, Liam. I think – I think that _he_ sounds like an _arse -_ ”

Liam makes a noise of protest, but she holds up a hand, shushing him.

“I’m your _mother_. I’m allowed to dislike people who say mean things to you. But – if you had a good time, they probably did too. And – maybe you need to give them another chance? If you _want_ to spend more time with them, don’t pre-emptively write them off. I know it’s _hard_ – it’s hard to believe that people like us sometimes. But – they _do_. It sounds like they _do_. And Zayn is not the _only_ person in the group, so don’t focus on him. Maybe just – maybe see if they ask you to lunch again?”

Liam swallows, tear tracks drying on his face.

“Do you – d’you really think so?” He asks.

“Liam, you are _wonderful_. And I’m biased, I know – you’re my son. But you _are_ , and it sounds like they might have _noticed_ that. I just – I hope one day, _you_ notice that about yourself, sweetheart.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Liam says, tears trickling from beneath his eyelashes yet again. “I want that, I _do_. I just -”

She shushes him again. 

“It’s not a _requirement_ , Liam. I just want you to be happy. We all want you to be happy. And they’d better ask you to lunch again, or I will be kicking some teenage butt. And just – Liam, _tell_ us when you’re not having a good time. _Please_. I promise we won’t be angry or disappointed, or whatever it is you’re afraid of. We love you, no matter what. Okay?”

Liam smiles wetly. “Okay,” he agrees. “Okay. I promise.”

“Good.” She says firmly, smiling gently. “Right. Time for another cup of tea, and maybe a bit of crap telly until your dad gets home? What do you think?”

“Sounds good.” Liam says, relief sinking into his bones. “ _BBC Three_?”

“Yep,” she agrees. “ _BBC Three_ , tea and ice cream. Always good after a bit of a cry.”

She flicks the kettle back on, and Liam feels lighter with the knowledge that she _knows_. That he doesn’t need to hold the weight of everything on his own anymore.

It’s good.

 

*

 

Liam’s dad gets back in time for lunch, disgruntled and covered in moss from the fence. His mum laughs, open and bright, and Liam smiles. His dad grins back, annoyance melting as Liam’s mum kisses him softly.

They end up spending the afternoon playing scrabble.

Liam feels happy.

(It flutters through him, soft and fleeting).

 

*

 

Liam spends Sunday in his bedroom, homework spread out across the floor as Liam lies on the carpet, gaze caught on the thread of a hairline crack in his ceiling. He feels _cold_ , doubts seeping into his skin – and he feels like his bones are breaking, shattering piece by piece, until Liam is left as a _wail_ of pain. His body feels heavy and his eyes tired. He wants it to _stop_.

His fingers thread through the soft fuzz of his carpet – and Liam smiles.  

 

(It doesn’t feel good)

 

It feels like broken.

 

(Like Liam is _broken_ )

 

 

*

 

It’s Sunday evening and Liam’s hands are sweaty - slick with perspiration as he gets a grip on himself. He’s spread out on his bed, hands down his pants as he pumps desperately at his cock. The skin of his back sticks to the sheets beneath him as he pants heavily in the silence of the room. He thinks of Zayn; thinks of the softness of his skin and the prickle of his stubble. Imagines the burn of it against the inside of his thighs, the scratch of it against Liam’s chin as Zayn kisses him hard. He traces patterns across Zayn’s skin in his mind and comes with a muffled shout, biting into the meat of his arm as he strokes himself through the aftershocks.

Liam shouldn’t want this.

 

(He wants it anyway)

 

*

 

College looms over Liam’s weekend, shadowy tendrils of fear wrapping their way around Liam’s heart. He breathes slowly, steadies his shaking hands and writes optimism into the air above him. He exhales his worry and burrows deep beneath the covers.

(For a small moment, Liam feels safe)

 

*

 

He dreams of Zayn, pressed against his back. He’s curved around Liam gently, the soft scratch of stubble sweet against Liam’s neck as Zayn kisses him goodnight.

 

(Liam’s heart aches)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it is safe to say that Liam fancies Zayn ;) But - Liam only fancies the _idea_ of Zayn at the moment, right? Hormones! Pfft! 
> 
> Ugh, I really, really hate this chapter. I'm so sorry *pouts*
> 
> (Also, like. *whispers* If anyone ever wanted to beta some stuff for me, I'd be eternally grateful. Even if it was just reading it over and checking my characterisation was consistent. <3)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings:
> 
> Implied/referenced homophobia  
> Liam/OMC

Liam wakes to the sound of his alarm ringing, shrill and unwanted in his ear. Groaning, he reaches out - arm emerging from beneath the stack of covers Liam’s buried under - and slaps at the off button grumpily. The noise halts abruptly and Liam sighs into the silence. Rolling over, he shoves his face back into his pillow and pulls the covers tighter around himself.

His duvet is warm around him and Liam feels sleepy and subdued, wrapped up tight in layers of snug softness. He hears the heating click on, his radiator shuddering into gear as the boiler strains awake. Liam whines into his pillow, clutching tightly at the material of his pillowcase. He doesn’t want to get up. The air is chilly and unwelcome across the tips of his exposed ears - and it’s early enough that he’s _cold_ , sweat absent as he lies in the cosy warmth of his bedding. Peddling his feet petulantly, Liam rubs his nose across his pillow and huffs loudly. His eyelids feel heavy, drooping slowly shut as the quiet morning warmth coaxes his drowsy body back into sleep.

His fingers unclench, hands spread out across the sheets – and Liam drifts off.

 

*

 

He startles awake again as his bedroom door opens, his mum flicking Liam’s light on as she comes in.

“Liam, honey. Your alarm went off ten minutes ago. You’ve got to get up. You don’t want to be late for college.”

Liam sighs loudly, before rolling over onto his back. Blinking up at his mum blearily, Liam’s eyes water as they slowly adjust to the brightness of the room.

“I do want to,” he mutters, mouth pulling down at the corners. “I don’t want to _go_ , Mum.”

He rubs at his eyes, sleep heavy and itchy. The end of his bed dips slightly as she sits, expression tight.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But it’ll be worse if you don’t.” She pats his legs firmly, before standing back up. “If you’re not up in five minutes I’m sending your dad up with a bucket of cold water.”

“ _Mum,”_ Liam whines, scowl pulling at his mouth.

“Just a bit of tough love, Liam.” She says, grinning, before her expression softens slightly. “I’m sorry, honey. Just get through today, sweetheart, and it’ll be a bit better tomorrow. Promise. And you never know, you could have _fun_ today.”

Liam’s eyes prickle and he swallows hard. He doesn’t believe her – but that’s his own burden to carry.

“Okay,” he whispers, closing his eyes against the tears. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Liam hears her leave, shoes clicking down the hallway, and he breathes out heavily. Tugging at the corner of his duvet, Liam fights with himself, a desperate sob trapped in the back of his throat. He turns on his side, throat convulsing as a tear trickles down the bridge of his nose and onto his sheets.

He’s not okay.

 

*

 

Liam makes it to college on time, the straps of his rucksack pulling uncomfortably against his shoulders as he drags himself reluctantly towards his first class. His skin feels tacky with dried sweat and Liam curses the overcrowded bus he’d had to catch.

(The bus had been packed, bodies tight against each other as the bus swung its way around the narrow lanes. Liam’s grip on the yellow metal of the bus pole had slipped with every turn, the jerky motion causing a sweat-slick slide as Liam struggled for balance. As the windows slowly steamed up, Liam’s skin soaked up the humidity, leaving fingerprints smeared across the yellow paint. Watching helplessly, Liam had tracked the slow roll of a droplet of sweat down the metal until it had hit the material of the seat beneath it. He spent the rest of the journey desperately wishing he could get off the bus - and stand in the open air until the winter winds had scrubbed every trace of _shame_ from his body).

He gets to his woodwork class ten minutes early, the classroom empty and muted in the gloom. Switching on the lights as he enters, Liam swings his rucksack onto the nearest bench, before sitting with a sigh. Outside, the sky greys further, the soft patter of drizzle against glass growing steadily heavier. He sits up straighter as the sound of his approaching classmates washes into the room. He sucks in a shaky breath and pulls his bag towards him like a shield. 

Liam just wants this day to be _over_.

 

*

 

Liam catches a glimpse of Niall as he trudges towards Biology, Niall’s head thrown back as he laughs. He’s got his back to Liam, shoulders shaking – and Liam grips at his bag with damp fingers, ducking down the science corridor quickly. Heart beating fast, Liam leans against the wall behind him, brick cool against his back. Letting his head fall back against the wall, he sighs, slowly uncurling his fingers as they cling stiffly to his bag. Liam’s eyes prickle, but he shoves at the feeling desperately. He’s not going to cry at college. He’s _not_.

He just-

He wants to avoid them all, today. Because then –

Then if they don’t ask him to lunch, it’s because they didn’t _see_ him. It’s not that they don’t _want_ to. They just didn’t have to opportunity to _ask_ him.

Liam hates this, though. He wishes he had the courage to approach Niall, smile firmly in place as he asks about Niall’s day. 

(It’s a wistful dream, though. He’s never going to be brave enough for that).

 

*

 

Lunchtime arrives with the raucous sound of several thousand voices all fighting to be heard over the din. Liam digs his nails into the meat of his thigh, eyelashes fluttering shut as he breathes out. Around him, his classmates are stuffing paper into their bags inelegantly, crumpled worksheets and pages of notes packed away in a relieved flurry.

Liam picks up his own notes, the paper sticking to the dampness of his skin. Pulling his sleeve down, Liam uses his material-covered hand to write the date on his work, before putting it in his bag and stuffing it behind his lunch box. It’ll probably be crumpled by the time he gets home, but he doesn’t _care_.

(He just wants to go _home_ ).

Zipping his bag shut, Liam stands and pushes his chair under the table. His fingers leave sweat-darkened patches on the edge of the blue plastic – and he rubs at them with the sleeve of his shirt. The material is wrinkled and damp against Liam’s skin and he sighs. It probably won’t dry before he dumps it in his wash-basket back home.

Aware that he’s stalling, the classroom echoing and empty as he pulls his rucksack on to his back, Liam steels himself. He’ll eat lunch, he’ll finish this day and he’ll go home – and if he cries in the silence of his bedroom tonight, well. That’s Liam’s business.

Giving the classroom one last cursory glance, Liam heads to the door and pulls it open, fingers slippery against the silver metal of the handle. Sighing, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, Liam takes a deep breath and steps into the corridor.

He can get through this day. He _can_.

 

(He can’t).

 

*

 

Liam steps through the door and walks straight into someone, his eyes flying open in shock and hands flying out past their body. Mouth squished against a chest, the smell of cigarette smoke curling up Liam’s nose, Liam lets out a surprised squeak. Pulling back, cheeks flushed and heart kicking hard in his chest, Liam meets the eyes of a very incredulous Zayn.

“Oh my _god,_ ” Liam says, wilting instantly.

He can feel the prickle of tears climbing their way up his throat, the embarrassment burning at his skin.

“I’m – I’m so _sorry_ ,” Liam chokes out, desperately trying to wipe his weeping hands surreptitiously on the leg of his jeans. Liam’s not sure that this day can get any _worse_. If Zayn didn’t think he was an idiot before, he certainly will now. “I should have looked where I was going.”

“Perhaps you should have,” Zayn agrees, leaning into Liam’s space as his voice stretches out in an unimpressed drawl. “Having your eyes closed isn’t the best navigation technique, I’m sure.”

Liam swallows, the tips of his ears burning in mortification.

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s the barest whisper.

“Well, no harm done – _right_ , Zayn?” Niall’s voice comes from the left of Liam, edges hard.

“Right,” Zayn says, face shuttering as he steps away from Liam.

Liam turns slightly, hands quivering with relief as he smiles nervously at Niall. He’s flanked by Louis and Harry, bright grins gracing their faces.

“Liam!” Louis shouts, grin turning cheeky. “Mate. How was your weekend?”

Flicking a look at Zayn out the corner of his eye, Liam’s smile turns forced.

“It was okay, thanks.” He says, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt, the material getting steadily damper. “How was yours?”

“So polite!” Louis cackles, glee flickering across his face. “You’re such a sweet boy, Liam Payne. Isn’t he sweet, Zayn?”

Zayn’s expression, if it’s possible, shutters further.

“Whatever,” Louis continues, sticking his tongue out at Zayn. “I had a lovely weekend. Right Hazza?”

Throwing his arm around Harry’s waist, Louis winks in Liam’s direction.

“Yep,” Harry agrees, smiling and leaning into Louis’ embrace.

Liam smiles uncertainly, the back of his neck prickling as Zayn glares. He just –

It feels like Louis is laughing at them _both_ , but he doesn’t know _why_. It’s not a particularly nice feeling. His stomach churns hotly and he clenches his fists slightly before swallowing hard.

“Um. I -” he chokes out, voice catching in the back of his throat. “I’m going to go now.”

He backs away from the crowd of boys slightly, already planning on skipping the rest of his day and just _going home_.

“Hey, no, _Liam_.” Niall says, darting out to grab his arm. “We came to ask you to eat with us again today. We had a lot of fun on Friday – thought it’d be nice to make this a regular thing, yeah.”

Liam’s brow furrows, a frisson of hope whipping through his veins.

“You – you _did_?” He asks, incredulous.

“Course we did.” Niall affirms. Slinging an arm over Liam’s shoulders, he turns him in the direction of the lunch hall. “We _like_ you, Liam Payne. Didn’t you know?”

 

*

 

(Liam doesn’t cry. He holds on _tight_ – and doesn’t cry. His heart feels bruised by happiness. It _hurts_. But it’s the good kind of hurt – and Liam finally feels like _something_ ).

 

*

 

It’s just -

He’s not sure that _Zayn_ likes him, is the thing. Or Louis.

He’s obviously _missing_ something, but it feels like they’re fighting over who can dislike Liam the most.

But that’s –

That’s okay. Liam just thinks they should know that they won’t _win_. No one can win that contest, because -

Liam’s pretty sure he hates himself more than they ever could.

 

*

 

(Liam just wants Zayn to _like_ him). 

 

*

 

Niall leads them all to a free table in the corner of the cafeteria, arm still slung over Liam’s shoulder. Liam gives up on trying to shrug him off, resigning himself to the prickle of sweat building under the warmth of Niall’s arm.

“Sorry about jumping you outside the classroom, mate. Pezza’s ill at the moment, but she told us you were in her Biology class, so we thought we’d wait for you. I wasn’t sure whether you were gonna go home for lunch today or not.” Niall says, throwing himself onto one of the benches.

Liam smiles at Niall tentatively as he sits down.

“Oh, um. No, I usually stay on days that I have my workshop in the afternoon. And that’s every other week.” He says, unzipping his bag.

Opposite Liam, Harry and Louis fall into their seats, voices loud as they grapple with each other. Louis apparently wins, his victory cry echoing around the cafeteria as he crawls into Harry’s lap with a sharp grin. Flashing a wink in Liam’s direction, he smacks a kiss on Harry’s cheek before sitting back on his own area of the bench.

Zayn slides in next to Louis, far more subdued, and Liam flushes as he catches Zayn’s eye. He likes Zayn so _much_ – being in proximity with him leaving him almost breathless – but it doesn’t _matter_. Liam’s not sure that Zayn even wants to be _friends_ with him – let alone more. He’s just got to accept that. It’s not like Liam would act any differently if he was in Zayn’s shoes.

(It doesn’t change the fact that it hurts).

 

*

 

Digging his lunch box from his bag, Liam tries to ignore the dribble of sweat that runs along the crease of his stomach as he sits. The room is even hotter than usual, the large windows allowing the winter sun in to heat the air. Liam feels stifled – hot and sweaty beneath the blanket of warmth. Beads of sweat drip into the palm of his hand as he grapples with the lid of his lunch box, perspiration causing his fingers to slip off the plastic. He jumps as Zayn’s hand whips out, taking the lunch box and removing the lid for him.

“There you go,” Zayn says gruffly, eyes firmly on his own lunch. “Um.” He clears his throat. “How was Biology?”

Liam blushes, skin heating further and the prickle of sweat starting up under his arms.

“Um,” he says, voice trembling. “It – It was okay. I didn’t understand all of it, but it was okay.”

Zayn glances up quickly, before looking resolutely at his own fingers as they pick at the flecks of paint decorating the table beneath them.

“How was your class?” Liam asks tentatively, fingers curled around his lunch box, grip sliding as he breathes shakily.

“It was fine.” Zayn says, before getting up abruptly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He stalks off, lunch still spread across the table as he heads out the door, shoulders hunched in his leather jacket. Liam stares after him, mouth trembling slightly.

“Did - Did I do something?” He asks, turning back to Niall.

Sighing, Niall looks towards the doors.

“No,” he says. “No you didn’t. Zayn just – sometimes when things get – um. He’s probably just – gone to the art room for a bit. Don’t worry, yeah.”

“Yes, don’t worry young Liam. Everything is _awesome_.” Louis exclaims, reaching out to pat Liam’s hand.

Flinching, Liam pulls his hand back quickly, the sweat-slick, swollen mess of fingers tucked away. He just –

He doesn’t need Louis to _touch_ him. They shouldn’t _touch_ him. Liam should keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t need to be told _twice_.

 

*

 

When Liam was fourteen, he discovered the touch of words against his skin. He learnt the agony of sharp letters from sharp tongues ripping the skin from his bones. He realised he was _wrong_.

He’d –

He’d found a _friend_ , he’d thought.

(He should have known better).

 

It was a new boy – soft and disarming, with dimples like sunshine when he smiled. He’d felt like sunshine across Liam’s _skin_. He’d touched Liam gently, soft nudges and sweet embraces. It had been _nice_.

He’d kissed Liam on a Thursday evening, the sun setting slowly in the distance as they lay in the grass. It had been a soft, sequestered sort of evening and Liam had felt _happy_. He’d wanted to _share_ everything – wanted to bare the very _heart_ of himself to this sweet boy who liked _Liam._ He’d watched as the light slowly faded and he’d whispered his secrets. Had confided his fears and worries and his _affliction_. Had trusted him.

(He was so _naïve_ ).

 

He stood in the hallway at school as dimples caved in around vicious words, skin flayed from bone as this _perfect_ boy branded Liam ‘disgusting.’

 

*

 

Zayn appears again as Liam is packing up his bag. They have ten minutes before class starts – and Liam likes to be early.

“Zayn, mate.” Niall greets him. “Get much done?”

“I did enough,” Zayn mutters, eyes flickering over Liam for a second, before fixing back on Niall. “C’mon,” he continues, jerking his head in the direction of the doors. “Let’s go.”

Liam zips up his bag, before hoisting it on to his back.

“ _C’mon_ ,” Zayn says again, voice gruff.

Liam turns to Niall – who’s still eating, apparently ignoring Zayn.

“Niall,” he whispers, nudging him softly with an elbow.

Niall looks up, before smirking. Zayn’s cheeks flush, lips curving down in a grimace.

“Not me he’s waiting for, Liam.” Niall says, snickering slightly.

“What?” Liam asks, confused.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn says, exasperation hanging heavy in his voice. “C’mon.”

He turns on his heel and walks towards the door, clearly expecting Liam to follow. Shooting a confused look over his shoulder at Niall, Liam trots after him. Zayn is scruffier than usual, stubble edging its way into a proper beard, his hair an artfully tangled mess. Liam lets his gaze roam Zayn’s face as he walks, the silence heavy between them.

He doesn’t know what Zayn _wants_.

 

*

 

They stop outside Liam’s workshop classroom and Zayn turns to him with a smirk.

“Here,” he says. “Bye.”

Turning, he stalks off down the corridor, shoulders loose and relaxed as Liam gapes in his wake. Liam has _no idea_ what just happened.

(He thinks that Zayn might have just walked him to class). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I can see where this is headed but it's taking forever to get there. I have a feeling that this is going to end up being huge. Like, I thought I'd be about 2/3 of the way through by chapter 5, but instead I'm actually about 1/5 or something. Fucking ridiculous.
> 
> And, seriously, come find me at my [Tumblr](http://www.teamfreeawesome.tumblr.com). I need to be regularly poked to update stuff - and this is a giant, sprawling bunch of stuff just sitting in my head, so feel free to ask questions about things I haven't mentioned in the fic. (Or about my Soulbond AU verse :P)
> 
> ALSO. Just FYI - I've been reading a lot of Hockey RPF atm (whaaaaat) so I feel like perhaps there's been some character bleed from that fandom into this fic. Um. So - what's up character continuity??? We seem to have taken a break from each other. It's not you, it's me. I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-d by the wonderful [AGreatPerhaps12](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AGreatPerhaps12/pseuds/AGreatPerhaps12). (Also, while we're on the subject - she's absolutely superb, and has written a fabulous Ziam fanfic 'lost for words' that you should all check out :P) Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Reiterating the warning for depression.

Liam runs home, thighs burning and chest tight as sweat builds in a damp layer beneath the heavy weight of his bag. He trips up the steps to his front door, pressing his palm desperately against the wood as he fumbles with his keys. Shoving the door open, breath coming in helpless gasps, Liam throws his bag down. He crumples in two, fingers clenched tightly around his kneecaps as he pants out a shuddery sob.

“Is that you Liam?” His mum calls from the kitchen. “How was your day?”

Pressing a trembling hand to his mouth, Liam straightens up.

“It was fine,” he tries, voice a cracked whisper. “ _Fine_ ,” he mutters into his fingers, scraping a nail hard against his bottom lip.

“Liam?” She calls again, stepping out into the hall. “Hey, _Liam_ , honey.” She moves closer and Liam –

Liam _can’t_.

Turning on his heel, frantic, shuddery breaths leaving his mouth with every exhale, Liam thunders up the stairs. His hands clutch desperately at the carpet in front of him as he runs, practically on all fours as tears sting at the corners of his eyes. He makes it to his bedroom just before his knees give out beneath him, his back sliding down the wall as he sobs desperately into his jeans, chest shaking beneath his sweat-damp shirt.

 

*

 

Sometimes –

Sometimes Liam feels even emptier than usual.

He lies on his bedroom floor, knees bent and fingers curled into the carpet as his heart beats steadily in his chest. His blood pumps, steady and unbroken - the _thump-thump_ of it loud in Liam’s ears as he breathes. Turning his head, Liam feels muffled by the silence as it settles softly over the afternoon. The sun filters in through his window, lighting the dozens of dust particles floating above his bed. His covers are pulled back, and Liam exhales slowly as golden patterns shift across the pale of his sheets.

Liam watches the space where he _isn’t_ and – imagines.

He imagines his bed filled with the soft warmth of a body spread out across his sheets, smile gentle and aimed at _Liam_. They smile at Liam and beckon, the naked expanse of their body affectionate and hushed in the dappled light – and Liam _wants_. He wants to curl up next to them, bare skin against skin, the warmth of it seeping into his bones. Lie there, entwined with them, leg between theirs as a quiet breeze floats in from the barely open window – sun warm across his face as they breathe together, the steady rise and fall of chests in content sequence. He wants to be pulled tight against a firm chest, their hand twined with Liam’s. Wants to feel the curve of their lips as they smile into Liam’s skin – as they press soft kisses across his body. He wants to feel _loved_.

But Liam blinks and he’s back to watching the dust dance across the empty bed, fingers clenched around a hand that’s no longer there.

He’s alone.

 

*

 

Liam wakes, neck stiff and face tight with dried tears, to the sound of raised voices.

“I don’t know what to _do_!” His mum shouts, voice breaking. “Geoff, I don’t know what to do. He’s not okay. Nothing is okay. And it hurts – it hurts so much to see him suffering. It’s so scary – I’m watching him shatter into pieces and I don’t know what to do.”

“Karen -” his dad starts, before choking slightly. “Karen, I’m not sure that this is the kind of hurt that we can _solve_. We can support and love and cherish, but he needs to talk to someone who can actually _help_ him through this. Liam needs to work through this on _his_ terms.”

“I know,” she wails. “I _know_. I just want everything to be okay. I just want Liam to be _okay_.”

“He _will_ be.” His dad says, firm and certain. “He _will be_. We are going to do everything we can to _help_ him be okay. He’s our _son_ and I want him to be _happy_. But – it’s no one’s _fault_. You know that, right? It’s not _your_ fault and it isn’t _Liam’s_ fault. It is what it is – and all we can do is try to make it better. And it’s – it’s not going to be _perfect_. Liam will dip and soar and that’s expected, but we can be here for him in those dips. Because that is what we are _for_ – we are his parents and we will be here for him, _always_. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be _okay_.”

 

(Liam cries, and it feels like relief).

 

*

 

Liam’s working on his Biology homework by the time his mum knocks tentatively on Liam’s bedroom door.

“Hey honey,” she says softly.

“Hey mum,” he says, smiling shakily.

“Can I come in?” She asks, hand still resting against the wood of the door.

“Yeah, course.” Liam says, turning properly in his chair to face her.

She comes in, sitting softly on the edge of Liam’s bed.

“I -” she starts, lips wobbling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re not okay.”

Liam feels it like a punch to the chest, throat working around the sudden lump in his throat.

“No,” he agrees, face crumpling around a sob. “No.”

Standing, he shuffles over to the bed, before curling into her side. Another knock arrives at the open door, and Liam’s dad’s smile is watery as he stands in the doorway.

“Room for one more?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Liam says, tears trickling slowly down his cheeks.

As his dad settles next to them on the bed, Liam pulls him into the hug, happy to be held tight between his parents as he weeps.

“Liam,” his dad says, voice broken. “Me and your mum have been talking and – and we’re worried about you.”

“I know,” Liam says, ducking his head as a tear rolls down his nose. Sweat is building across his skin – it always does when he cries, and it’s only compounded by the heat of the hug – but he doesn’t _care_. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” his dad says, voice cracking around a sob of his own. “ _God_ , Liam. No. Don’t be _sorry_. You haven’t got anything to be sorry for. You’ve done nothing wrong. Worrying is our _job_ , Liam. But – you’re not okay, son. You know – you know it’s not like you to be this sad, right?”

Liam chuckles wetly.

“I’m just _sad_. I don’t know why. But it’s – I’m just sad.”

His dad closes his eyes, a tear slowly rolling from the corner of one and down across his cheek. Liam’s not sure he’s ever seen his dad cry before and it _hurts_.

“Dad – Dad, don’t cry. I’m fine. I’m really fine.”

His mum tightens her arms and presses a kiss to Liam’s forehead.

“You’re not fine, Liam. Sweetheart, this is _more_ than sad. When was the last time you felt happy? Truly, properly happy?”

And Liam –

Liam feels it like a wave of panic, engulfing him and forcing him under until he can’t breathe.

“I don’t know,” he says, breath coming fast. “Mum, I don’t _know_.”

“That’s -” his dad starts, before breathing deeply. “That’s the problem. That’s why we’re worried. We’ve been thinking – that maybe talking to someone who isn’t us might help. Because – you shouldn’t be this sad. It’s breaking the very _heart_ of you – and that’s _terrible_. We want you to be okay. We want you to enjoy spending time with your friends. We want you to _believe_ that you have friends. We want you to believe in _you_.”

“I can’t though – I _can’t_.” Liam says, heart beating fast in his chest. “I tried that. I did. But I can’t!”

Liam’s mum smiles weakly.

“Honey, we know. It’s not something that you can do purely on your own. That’s why we’re suggesting talking to someone. If you talk to someone who knows what they’re doing – it’s not instantaneous, sweetheart, but they can get you there. They can get you to the point where you feel _alive_ again. Like there’s something to _smile_ about. Like the very act of breathing isn’t going to cripple you. Your uncle – you dad’s brother. He – he was depressed for so long, Liam. But it helped him, talking to someone – it helped so much. He’s not always okay all the time – but it’s helped. And – if it doesn’t help, that’s okay too. We can try something else. But, honey, all you have to do is try. We love you, and we want you to be happy. We’re hoping this will be the first step to you feeling _better_. Not necessarily _perfect_ straight away, but _better_. But – it needs to be your choice.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Liam chokes out, before choking around desperate sobs, tears rolling and rolling as he shakes.

He cries and he _cries_ – and it feels like a release. It feels like permission to be as broken as he feels. His parents hold him tight – and he sobs until he has nothing left.

“Okay,” he says softly, skin tight with dried tears. “Okay.”

He falls asleep whispering it, exhausted and empty.

 

*

 

He wakes to the smell of dinner cooking, and carries himself downstairs on shaky legs.

“Hey,” he says as he flops into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Evening,” his dad says from the cooker, onions spitting in a pan. “Your mum’s just on the phone to your sister. She’ll be through in a minute. You alright, son?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, throat dry. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

His dad smiles. “Good,” he says gruffly, before clearing his throat and turning back to the oven.

“Talk to you soon,” his mum says into her mobile as she enters the kitchen, before clicking at a button and setting it down on the kitchen table. “Oh, Liam. How are you feeling, honey?”

“I’m – I’m okay, mum.” He says, looking at the table as he scratches at it with a thumb.

“Mmm,” she says, ruffling his hair as she walks past to flick the kettle on. “Are you – Do you want to tell me about your day?”

Liam ducks his head further, cheeks flushing.

“Liam -” she starts, surprised. “What -”

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat. “They asked me to lunch again.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s brilliant! Was it fun?” She asks, smile breaking out across her face.

“It was – it was _weird_.” He says, but a smile pulls at his own lips. “It was nice to talk to them. And they said – they said they _liked_ me. But – Zayn was weird. He seemed grumpy? But then – I think, I mean. I think he walked me to my class?” He trails off, face crumpled with bemusement. “I just – I don’t know if he _hates_ me or – or if he wants to be my _friend_.”

“Liam,” his mum says, voice tinged with surprise. “It – I mean. Do you _want_ Zayn to be your friend? He was the one who was mean to you before, right?”

Liam nods slowly. “Yes – but, I really want him to _like_ me.”

He can feel the prickle of sweat beading under his armpits as he talks, his cheeks flushing and ears growing warm. A thin sheen of perspiration spreads out across his fingers, and Liam wipes his hand hurriedly on the thigh of his jeans.

“You want him to like you?” His mum asks slowly. “You – do you want him to like you as a _friend_ or - I mean. Do you want him to _‘like’_ you?”

His dad coughs slightly, before coming over to stand next to Liam’s mum.

“You know – you know that would be okay, right, Liam? That you can _like_ this boy. Or. Well. I’m not sure about _this_ boy. He hasn’t been very nice. But you can like _boys_. Right?” His dad says.

Liam can feel his eyes widening. It’s not –

It’s not that he’d thought his parents wouldn’t be okay with Liam liking boys – but he hadn’t been _sure_.

“I – um. I’d quite like him to _‘like’_ me.” Liam says, face flushing deeper as he makes eye contact with his parents. “But, I mean – I don’t think he _would_. I’d just like that. If he did.”

“Well, okay. That’s okay.” His dad says, smiling slightly. “I’m still not sure about this boy specifically, though. I want – I want you to be with someone who makes you _happy_.”

Liam swallows tightly, throat closing around a lump yet again.

“I – I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, dad. I just – I like _him_. I’m pretty sure there’s no interest on his part.”

“But he _walked you -_ ” Liam’s dad starts, before his mum elbows him in the side with a hissed _“Geoff!”_

“He’d be lucky to have someone as great as you, Liam.” His mum says, smiling. “Go and stir the onions, Geoff. If he doesn’t want you, then he’s an idiot. But I’m glad lunch went okay. Maybe you should invite them over after college, hey?”

Liam shakes his head frantically, sweat beading faster at the thought.

“You don’t have to! But they could come over and watch a film or something? They told you they liked you, honey. I’m pretty sure that means they _like you_.”

“They could have been lying.” Liam whispers. “They were probably lying. I don’t understand why they’d want to spend time with me.”

“Oh, _Liam_.” His mum sighs, pulling out the chair next to him. “ _Sweetheart_. They weren’t lying, love. There’s no _reason_ for them to lie.”

“But there is!” Liam yells, heat racing across his cheeks as sweat pools under his armpits. “There is. There _always_ is.”

“Liam -” his mum starts, before his dad turns, clearing his throat.

“Liam. Liam-bean,” he says. “It’s not – look, it’s not really _about_ you.”

Liam swallows hard, cheeks dulling slightly as he gazes down at the table. “I know,” he says, voice tight with hurt.

“No – hey. Liam, no. You _don’t_ know. What it boils down to is people choosing to like you for who you are. And sometimes – sometimes you don’t see the things that they see. You see all the negative parts of yourself. You see the horrible, snarled bits you don’t think anyone will like, because that’s what we’re _supposed_ to see. Because society doesn’t _like_ you to like yourself. We’re trained to see all the terrible things in ourselves – all our imperfections and wounded sections, because to see anything else makes you ‘vain.’ But – when you look at someone else, you don’t _see_ those things. You see the things that make them _brilliant_. You see the way they smile, the way they talk, the way they _love_. And you _like_ those things. But - inside each, wonderful, interesting person on this planet is a hidden worry that all _you_ can see is everything that is wrong with them. But you don’t see that, Liam. You don’t see that. And that’s – that’s how people look at you, Liam. They look at you and they see everything _brilliant_ about you. These boys – they look at you and they see something they like. And they see – they see _friendship_. I know it’s hard, son. I _know_. But – if you can’t believe that they like you, believe me when I tell you I wouldn’t _lie_. I wouldn’t _lie._ So – invite them over once, hey? Just once. And if you hate it, that’s fine. We won’t have them over again. Your mum’ll drop kick them down the garden path. But you – you might like it. And for that chance – for the chance that you might like it, you should try. You should try, Liam.”

“I – I – _dad_ ,” Liam sobs, voice cracking. “ _Dad_.” He crumples, face pressed into his hands as tears seep through the cracks in his fingers.

His mum leans over, pulling Liam tight against her.

“Oh, Geoff. That was – I just -” She says, yanking Liam’s dad towards them. She sniffs quietly, before tugging them both closer into a tight hug. “I love you both so much.”

And Liam –

Liam’s not okay.

But he thinks that he might be on the path to … getting there.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so dialogue heavy. I felt like if I missed all this stuff out, Liam's progression (both in himself and in a possible relationship with Zayn) wouldn't be happy, healthy or realistic. But, hopefully it was okay, if not enjoyable. And I absolutely promise that the next chapter will actually see some _interesting_ things happen - though I'm not promising any actual romance at this point in time ;)
> 
> Again, I recognise that everyone's experiences with depression are different. This draws only on my own experiences with it. 
> 
> ALSO. HOCKEY RPF. STILL. I CAN SEE TRACES OF IT IN THIS, JUST HANGING AROUND, BEING ALL HOCKEY-LIKE. (I love it, it's fab and it's taken over my life).


	7. Chapter 7

This is going to be incredibly disappointing, and I'm very sorry, but I wasn't sure where to put this other than in a new chapter because I think this message mostly got missed on my Tumblr. 

I have reached a point where I no longer feel like I have the capacity to  _care_ about these fictional versions of One Direction. This story is incredibly important to me, but I'm finding it hard to shape it around these characters - because I've lost interest in the band. Now, that's not to say that I don't  _like_ One Direction. I do. I'm just far more invested in other fandoms right now - and that translates to my fic too. To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced that I'll be coming back to One Direction at all.

So basically, what it comes down to is:

1) I put this fic on hiatus, with the vague hope that I might come back to it in the future

2) I remove this fic and transform it into Original Fiction instead

3) I hand over the reigns to someone else who could carry the fic forwards. This comes attached with  _very firm rules_ , however, and it is not open permission for anyone to continue the fic or use anything I have written as their own without my explicit permission.

If you have an opinion, you can let me know which your preferred option would be. If Option 3 is unanimous, then a conversation will be had about how we carry this forward, and what my rules are about it. However, any comments on this matter must be  _polite_. Anything nasty or rude will be immediately deleted and your opinion will not be taken into account when I decide on the course of action to take. I understand that this is very disappointing (having WIPs abandoned is very frustrating *hangs head in shame*) but that is  _no_ excuse for unpleasant behaviour.  _  
_

Thank you for your patience.

<3 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ach, I'm so sorry.


End file.
